Colors...

Black. The ultimate of darkness, of deep places wherein things are often lost and never found again. And before the Black field is White. Soft, gentle White. Smooth, like cream. The epitome of an empty page, a blank space to be claimed, for something to be created, to be found. Things are not lost on White. And on the White span is Red. Thick, rich, full of unspeakable things, good things and bad things. Red is pain, or anger, or sorrow, or shame. Red is guilt and fear. Red floods over White, covering it's clean purity with imperfection, revealing it's weakness, it's ability to be overrun. Red drips from White into Black, where it is lost, for nothing can overcome Black. Black is strong. Black shows no contrast against it, save White, and White succumbs to all colors. Black never succumbs. Black is forever. Even Red must give way to Black.

Dreams, or Reality...?

Sometimes the things you dream in the night become real. Things of black night become things of yellow sunlight. Things you should never have to see, never have to know. But you see them, you know them, and they are real. Sometimes the things you hope you never have to face are the things you must face next. Sometimes you don't know if you want to dream, or want to wake. Sometimes one is no better or worse than the other. Usually, that happens when they both suck pretty bad. Sometimes, all you can do is hang on for the ride and hope it changes, by you waking or you falling asleep. Sometimes, the dream is reality, and reality is but a dream...

Control

The essence of life is control. One either has it, or one does not. If one has not control, then one has not strength. To live one must first survive. To survive one must have control over the world, even in it's smallest part. To control any of the world, even just one's own world and that of it that relates to one, one must have control over one's self. Control is key. To lose control is to break laws, rules, precedents, and any and all sorts of proprieties. Control is what keeps everything together. Strong nations have control. Strong people have control. Strong businesses, strong leaders, strong individuals have control. Control is imperative. To lose control is to fail. To lose control is to lose respect, to lose freedoms, to lose everything that control let you hold tight to. Never, ever lose control. It is unacceptable. Unforgiveable. Unforgettable. Not to mention dangerous. And unseemly.
Control is key. Never lose control. Ever. No matter what.
Control is key.

The Door

The door. The door is the portal between the chaos and the emptiness, between the fires and the barren lands. It is in the wall, but not of it. It is strong, where the wall only gives the appearance of strength. The door is secure, built and barred with all the things that speak of steadfastness and invulnerability. It is stone, and iron, and thick wood, all layered and bound together so that no fire, lightning, ram, nor attack can break it.
The door cannot be budged from the outside. Things from the barren lands may pass through it's solidity, but never can they open it. Things from the fire, however, can never pass through the door at all. They have the potential to destroy the door, to shatter it beyond repair--and this they must do to go beyond it.
The difference between the door and the wall is simply the reason behind their existance. The wall is there to contain the fire; the door is there to release it. The wall is my fight against the trials of the life outside of me; the door is my fight against that which is in and of me. If the wall falls, then I had not the strength to fight the world any longer. If the door falls, then I had not the strength to fight myself any longer. It would be so much easier to open the door and let loose the fires...but I can't, or won't. I know not which and I know not why.
So for now, the door holds against their fury. For now, the fires are held at bay. For now, the erosion of the door is bearable. For now, I remain.

The Wall

It isn't perfect. It isn't secure. It isn't impenetrable. But it's the best I have. The wall has flaws, cracks, gaping holes that I try to hide from all eyes, because the wall is all I have...I hide behind it, trap all the horror and terror there. I lock away all the hurts that I cannot control, and all the joys too. Because anything of any strenght might make me lose control, might bring the whole wall down. And that wall keeps me sane. I need the wall, need the control it brings. Control is life. Without it, I would not exist. Without it, I would be dead. Control is key. Anything that cannot be completely, utterly controlled, goes behind the wall. And when anything gets out, disaster. When control is lost, all is lost. Fires burn across the land that is me, the places outside of the wall, barren places because all has been taken from them and hidden away behind that wall. Better barren than wasted. Better dead than nonexistant.
But the wall isn't perfect. It breaks, collapses, shatters. And when it does, I panic. I fear. I struggle with the fires, with the falling stones, straining to build the wall back up and lock the flames away again. Lock them away before they can destroy what little is left of the wasteland that is me. I am desolate. I am darkness. I am isolation. I am emptiness. I am nothing. I am nothingness. The fires destroyed everything in me except that which was locked away. I am death, but not yet am I nonexistance. Ta me anseo. I am still here. There is simply nothing in me. The wall is ice, and yet does not melt to the fires within, not yet. I can still keep it cold. I just cannot keep it from shattering. It comes apart more and more, and I dread the day when I cannot build it back up again. I've lived with the wall for so long, I do not know how to survive without it. And yet I am losing it...and soon the fires will rage rampant across my barren soul...

Splitting, searing, throbbing pain...hurts to move, hurts to see, hurts to exist...but I keep going faster. Run, whip through the motions. The faster I go, the easier it is to ignore it, to forget...but the pain never goes away. The agony only ever gets worse.
And then I hear it: the music, music that I know, that I love, that I've heard before but not exactly that way...and though it hurts to hear, though it tears me apart, I cannot help but listen. And that pain, that rhythmic wave of sound that sent me reeling into anguished shock, eased the other pain. It lessened the agony, soothed the torn edges of my nerves...
And the pain I felt when it ended, when it was gone, superceeded any pains from before. Being without it, that thing that I loved though it shattered me, was worse than never having had it, than never experiencing the shatter at all. Deprivation may have nearly killed me...but I wouldn't trade it for ignorance. Because somehow the first pain is easier, that origional agony is nothingness, when compared to the loss I now feel. And that makes it easier to endure.

If only...

If only I could help you
If only you could see
If only I could return some
Of the light you bring to me

If only there were some way
If only it were true
If only I could remember
Just how to help you

If only I were stronger
If only I weren't weak
If only I could raise you
From the darkness you seem to seek

If only I could help you
If only you could see
If only I could be for you
What you have been for me

But no matter how I struggle
you always seem to lose
For of the paths before you
One only can you choose

And though there's one I wish
You could walk along
I know you must go opposite
To claim you would be wrong

If only I could help you
If only you could see
That I'd do anything to save you
From the terrible trap that is me

So take the path your heart walks
And take it with all speed
Walk it with both heart and feet
For that is what you need

For this is how I help you
This, though you can't see
This I do, to do right by you
I part myself from thee

Goodbye...

Every day we say good-bye,
Every day I must leave.
Every day I must miss you,
And every day I grieve.

Every day could be the last,
Every day one could die.
Every day I must wonder,
If this is the last good-bye.

Every day someone is lost,
Every day someone dies.
Every day I start with hello,
Knowing I must end with good-byes.

Carrickfergus

I wish I was in Carrickfergus
Only for nights in Ballygrand
I would swim over
The deepest ocean
The deepest ocean
For my love to find
But the sea is wide
And i cannot swim over
Neither have i
The wings to fly
If i could find me
A handsome boatman
To ferry me over
To my love and die

My childhood days
Bring back sad reflections
Of happy times
Spend so loong ago
My childhood friends
And my own relations
Have all passed on now
Like melting snow
I spend my days
In endless roaming
Soft is the grass
My bed is free
Ah, to be back now
In Carrickfergus
On that long road
Down to the sea

I'll spend my days
In endless roaming
Soft is the grass
My bed is free
But i am sick now
And my days are numbered
Come all you young men
And lay me down


--Orla Fallon, A New Journey

"It is the way we live that is testament to our spirits...and perhaps the way we die..."


--Dennis Mckiernan, "The Iron Tower"

The Blessing

In the morning when you rise
I bless the sun, I bless the skies
I bless your lips, I bless your eyes
My blessing goes with you

In the nighttime when you sleep
Oh, I bless you while the watch I keep
As you lie in slumber deep
My blessing goes with you

This is my prayer for you
There for you, ever true
Each, every day for you
In everything you do
And when you come to me
And hold me close to you
I bless you, and you bless me too

When your weary heart is tired
If the world will leave you uninspired
When nothing more of love's desired
My blessing goes with you
When the storms of life are strong
When you're wounded, when you don't belong
When you no longer hear my song
My blessing goes with you

This is my prayer for you
There for you, ever true
Each, every day for you
In everything you do
And when you come to me
And hold me close to you
I bless you, and you bless me too

I bless you, and you bless me too


--Lisa Kelly, A New Journey

Also If...

ohIf you are there to catch me, I will not fear a fall. If you are there to catch me, I will not fear to jump. If you are there to help me live, then I will not try to die. If you were to cry for the moment of your life at my death, then I would strive to live. If you will be there for me always, then I will be there for you...and neither of us will ever be alone. If you would jump after me, I would not dare to jump, for your sake. If the rest of you would hang for me, then how dare I do something to be hung--for I would never put you in danger. I will suffer no one, to suffer on account of me, executioner or no. Meaningless words: "I hope your death comes swift in your sleep". Meaningless, but I have no more actions to give, save my life for yours...

Reality

There's something about reality that tends to drive people to irrationality. It's cold, harsh, and utterly impersonal, and it's realization crashed over one all at once, with no time allotted for them to adjust to it.

It's like waking up in the morning, almost. For a moment, often an infentismal span of time immediatly forgotten, you know nothing, feel nothing, remember nothing. You are given this split second of total, blissful ignorance--then reality crashes in on you, full force. The world, your life, and all your troubles rush into your mind, all at once, in a chaotic jumble not unlike a city in the aftermath of some great earthquake.

This experience, this 'reality check' has been likened to many things over the years: "a slap in the face," "being hit by a ton of bricks," and "taking a bull by the horns," ranking foremost among them. These phrases are cliques all, and yet it's sad how true they are. That moment where our pure, innocent, unsuspecting psyche's are overwhelmed by reality has the same effect on us as throwing pitch on a clean white sheet would have on that sheet. It's blatant, severe, and traumatic--and that's just when you're the busy housewife watching someone destroy her linens!
Yet that blast of reality is rarely remembered even seconds later. It's a natural part of life, a logical consequence for the act of waking each morning. Could we remain in that state of unawareness for any length of time, we would never grow as people, or as a society. We would fall apart, stagnate, and fall into ruin, because ignorance may be bliss, but reality is what makes things worth living and dying for.
Everyone wants to belive in something: religion, truth, science, whatever...but no one can belive in anything if nothing is real. For if nothing is real, than we are not real...and if we are not real, what are we?